


This Set Is Probably Not OU, Uber, Or VGC Legal

by Lewdsmokesoldier



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hemipenis, Other, Pokephilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lewdsmokesoldier/pseuds/Lewdsmokesoldier
Summary: Cynthia’s Garchomp is the most powerful Pokemon in the Sinnoh Pokemon League, and the Champion believes that the time has come for her star Pokemon to lay some eggs. Except her beloved Garchomp is not very amenable to mating, so now it’s Cynthia’s job to collect the “material” her scheme requires.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	This Set Is Probably Not OU, Uber, Or VGC Legal

**Author's Note:**

> First time doing something like this...it was an idea I've had for a while, and I was given the chance to do it, so I gave it my best shot. Hopefully it's fun.
> 
> Consider checking out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lewdsmoke) for memes and Fire Emblem: Three Houses spam.

Cynthia loved her Pokemon, each and every one of them. She knew that her triumphs and titles were only the result of the partners that she had on her team, and even if she had brought them together and honed them to perfection, it was only by their own abilities that she stayed on the top. Cynthia was proud of them all, and would not pick favorites.

But even she had to admit that there was one that stood out above the others, just a bit. The strongest, by virtue of the terrifying power of their evolutionary line, and her oldest partner. When she had first come to know her Garchomp, they were just a little Gible, mouthy and feisty, and Cynthia had been a much younger woman.

That was a long time ago. Her Gible had passed from her yowling, teething baby phase, with her all-encompassing mouth and stubby hands and feet, to an upright, properly limbed, and more measured Gabite. Now, she was a titan of a Garchomp, strong and sleek, her bulk never taking away from her speed as she stood tall and fierce. The Dragon-type had fought off many a challenger, and supported, or been supported by, the rest of Cynthia’s team. 

Cynthia couldn’t be happier for her. Not just for how Garchomp reflected on Cynthia’s own prestige, but how the Dragon-type had grown, matured, and made herself known. It was a story worth telling, and a power worth passing down.

Which...led to Cynthia’s presently awkward predicament. She preferred raising her Pokemon’s potential by hand, and with the help of her friends and mentors, but she understood the value of a good pedigree. Pokemon could pass down many, many things to their children, from Abilities to moves (including some truly surprising combinations of moves, if the parents were of different species) to even their temperament. But the quality that made Pokemon breeding so appealing to so many people was how joining together powerful parents could produce even more powerful children.

Many of the best Pokemon Trainers, in all respects of the field, worked in coordination with Pokemon breeders to produce Pokemon eggs that hatched in baby Pokemon of extraordinary ability. Beyond the affection and adorableness of caring for young Pokemon, such measures could be lucrative indeed: it was common for a Trainer that had won a major League victory to be swamped with requests for their Pokemon to take part in breeding programs by Breeders and institutions with an eye for research. And it was generally a fine reward for a Pokemon Team that had carried their Trainer so far into victory. 

Now, all of that sounded fine indeed. Cynthia had never dipped into that field before, but...something in her had prompted that search now. A latent maternal instinct, maybe, or some other sort of compulsion that had driven her to look at her Garchomp, a monument to physical perfection, discipline, and adaptability, and believe that now was the time. Now was the time for her partner to pass her power down to children. And the world could always use some more Gible, whether as prospective partners for new Trainers or to rebuild depleted populations elsewhere.

There was only one problem. Normally, problems did not stop Cynthia, but this was...a notable one. Her Garchomp did not want to mate. Cynthia had gone through all the steps. She’d gone through contacts to find someone who could advise her (Clair and Drasna had helped with that), then located a suitable sire (courtesy of Raihan, who’d been breeding his own Garchomp after catching a pair in Galar’s Crown Tundra), and brought him to her. 

But her Garchomp rebuffed all overtures from the male Garchomp in question. And he had not been subtle, or reserved, in his interests: he’d barely been with Cynthia’s partner Pokemon for a few minutes before he’d started dragging his claws on her fins avariciously, growling and butting the sides of his head against the other Dragon-Type’s neck. Cynthia had been told that this was a normal display, though not until later in courtship: he seemed to be skipping several steps in the process and rushing right to the mating. That seemed to be a deal-breaker for her Garchomp: the dragon snarled at the male, and when he didn’t take the hint, snapped and roared and slashed back at him, viciously enough that Cynthia had to intercede, withdrawing her Pokemon into her Ultra Ball before things got too violent.

A second try had yielded no better results: the male Garchomp refused to behave, or at the very least, her Garchomp refused to accommodate his lack of adherence to convention. Cynthia would have just substituted another male in, but Raihan had assured her that this male was the best he could offer, and neither Drayden nor Lance had any access to Gible populations of their own. Drake might have been able to help, but he was off on some sailing trip somewhere and Cynthia couldn’t hope to contact him. She was stuck with this apparently uncooperative male.

Knowing Raihan, he’d probably sent her this male on purpose. Ah, well. His idea of a practical joke wouldn’t get in her way: this male Garchomp was the real deal. The only problem was, how to get this dealt with?

Cynthia paused. She’d set up a space for the two Garchomp to mate, in a fireproof stable in the outskirts of Celestic Town, though she knew there was little chance the walls could take the force of two dragon bodies if both Pokemon had gotten too violent. Still, it afforded the Garchomps a bit of privacy, or it would have, if things hadn’t gone south. 

She perused her surroundings. The door was closed, and grilles in the roof gave the space some breathability. The floor was sturdy soil and clay—she’d just built walls and a round atop the existing ground, because she knew from experience that Garchomp preferred rock and dirt to rubber and concrete. There was a trough along one wall, for water, and dried strips of Magikarp meat hung from another, in case the Pokemon had needed a bite mid-breeding. 

And here was a bucket. A plain metal bucket, but still, a bucket. 

Cynthia paused, watching the dragon-type before her as he shuddered and breathed heavily, his chest expanding and withdrawing with every gulp of air. He looked tense, quivering, and was no doubt frustrated at being so close to his prize, only to be robbed of it. His narrow, yellow eyes darted to and fro, little puffs of smoke rising from his nostrils, escaping through the grills in the ceiling. He had the notch in his dorsal fin that was common to all male Pokemon in his evolutionary line, and the star-shaped indentation on the tip of his snout told Cynthia that he’d spent more than his fair share of time testing his strength by butting his head through boulders.

Then he turned to her, and his eyes flashed. She saw intelligence in his gaze, and frantic, urgent,  _ frustrated _ energy. He flapped his upper limbs, the fins on his forearms extending and straightening as he tried to let off heat. But he wasn’t calming down, and a low, long growl was starting to build in his throat, echoing from the hollow chamber in his snout. It grew, getting stronger, but not louder, and Cynthia could feel the waves of sound rock against her.

An idea came to her. A stupid, unscientific, utterly insipid idea. Really. It couldn’t work. Not one bit. So why was she so tempted? She bit the inside of her cheek, watching him, knowing that this Garchomp was on the brink of losing control of himself from his own bad manners. 

There was...there was a bucket. And she had an Ice Stone, or, if needed, a Milotic with Ice Beam. She knew what she was thinking of was common practice on Tauros ranches, or on Bouffalant repopulation parks. But a Garchomp? It sounded...far more dangerous. And far more difficult.

Neither had ever been particularly troubling obstacles to Cynthia, though.

Cynthia clenched her fists. “I...guess there’s nothing else to it. Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this...” 

She stepped forward, and the Garchomp’s throaty rumbling ebbed. She knew to walk with confidence around an agitated Garchomp, without testing their inborn urge to fight for dominance, so she strode with purpose, but without holding herself taller than him. That part was easy—he was taller than her—but when he hunched over, she took care to lower her head to never exceed his eyeline. But he never looked away, and did not lash out when she came without reach.

“Hey.” She said, casually, trying to calm herself and him. All but the least intelligent Pokemon could understand human speech—how else would they obey a Trainer’s orders, after all?—but she didn’t know how much Raihan had acclimated this male to human interaction. “Easy, now. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She reached out a hand and extended her index and middle finger. He rumbled, and her teeth vibrated, but she stayed the course, and brushed her digits against the side of his neck, where the red underside met the blue-plated scales. His skin was rough, and it irritated her fingers, but she kept up the motions, until the quaking emanating from him softened into a growl.

“You’re beautiful.” Cynthia murmured. “And so strong!” 

He looked pleased, his jaws opening and closing slowly. His long, flat, leathery tongue lolled forward, and the stench of smoke, coal, and overcooked meat escaped from his mouth. Cynthia was practiced enough to not react, but it took some willpower to not curl her nose.

“Let me help you.” The Champion said again, slowly. She held up her other hand, her right hand, where the Garchomp could see it, and lowered it slowly, his chin tilting so his eyes could follow. Down, down, down, and...there. The spot below his stomach, between his legs, above where his tail joined his torso. Her index and thumb brushed where the yellow met the red, he hissed and stiffened, and she whispered reassuringly.

“Shhhhh.” Cynthia crooned, leaning forward, her lips curled in a soft smile. “I’m just going to give you a hand.” 

If he caught the play on words, he did not react. He merely closed his eyes and let out a puff of hot air from his nostrils, then opened his mouth again, tongue extending, breathing slowly. Cynthia didn’t think Garchomp kissed the same way that humans did, but the least she could do was try, so she pressed her lips where his teeth met his jaw, and then pushed lower with her right hand, until the scales parted just below where the yellow met the blue, and…

There. Warm, so much warmer than the rest of his body save his throat. Her touch, and his earlier interrupted intimacy, were enough to rouse him. Cynthia leaned away to look down, and saw, as she expected, not one, but two slick, pink lengths, tapered at the tip, emerging from his crotch.

His cocks slowly grew more rigid, and emerged more fully, until a ring of soft spikes at the bottom of each popped free from the opening: the barbs, at the base of both lengths. Meant to...lock in to the female, and keep himself from slipping out. Of course. 

“There we go…” Cynthia cooed, still stroking his neck with her left hand, planting kisses on his lipless mouth as his shafts emerged. “Isn’t that much better?”

He grumbled in agreement, and dipped his head further down and his tongue to the side, towards her, giving Cynthia a clumsy lick across the cheek. She opened her mouth and caught the tip of the Garchomp’s tongue between her lips, and sucked on it carefully, lapping it with her own tongue in turn, as close as she could get to a slobbering kiss. His tongue was...not pleasant, salty and coarse and tasting of leathery, slightly burnt meat, but she didn’t find herself repulsed by it, either. At the same time, her right hand reached down and took the upper of his two cocks in hand, enclosing around it gently, and giving it a single slow pump.

The Garchomp hissed, the sound reverberating through his tongue to set Cynthia’s teeth chattering. Her thumb curled around the tip, flicking it tenderly, before journeying back down in another stroke.

Cynthia would have preferred to just...stay here, lazily jerking this Garchomp off, kissing him with more passion than she’d kissed most humans. That’d be the more clinical way of doing things, of collecting his semen for her purposes, and it’d be the safest and least degrading, at least. But Cynthia, quite honestly, did not particularly care for the appearance of propriety at the moment—she was already pleasuring a Pokemon, after all—and she’d already trespassed well beyond safety in doing this at all. She might as well go the whole way.

Giving the Garchomp another indelicate suck on his tongue, she broke away, rubbing her forehead against his snout, kissing him beneath the eye. “I’m going to move now. Be good, okay?”

The dragon’s gaze flashed with hunger. He did not nod, not exactly, but his neck relaxed, and Cynthia felt free to give him another little kiss, brushing her lips against the scales of his chin as she moved her head down. Slowly, she sank to her knees, trailing her fingers along his side, careful to avoid touching the red on his belly: her Garchomp was never fond of being pet there, and it probably was too vulnerable a spot for this Garchomp to feel comfortable being touched there, either, even in this context.

Kneeling now, Cynthia took stock of the situation. Her right hand was still around the higher of his two dicks, languidly dragging up and down, but the lower bobbed and trembled, untouched. A pearlescent glob of precum dripped from the tip, oozing down, and she caught it in her left palm and brought the droplet to her mouth. Smiling, she sucked the fluid up with a smack of her lips, and blinked. Like his tongue, it was...terribly salty, and thick, almost bouncy as it slid down her throat. It was far gooey than a human’s cum, and she’d sampled more than her fair share of loads. 

Cynthia grinned, and leaned forward. Her left hand tugged on her top, plumping her cleavage, the dip between her breasts more distinct and deep than she normally allowed as she loosened the buttons holding her upper garment together. Her chest didn’t fall into the open, but the valley of her bosom was more vulnerable, crossing over the line from the dignified window of flesh she usually showed to a more exhibitionist display of hanging tits. 

“There, there…” She whispered to the Garchomp’s upper dick, her hand near the base, just above the ring of squishy spikes. Her other hand was on the same spot on his lower shaft, tilting it downward as she moved. Down here, he smelled of...more primal interest, of soot and charcoal and rich, deep, intoxicating musk. He was in rut, that was sure enough, and Cynthia was lucky that his musth was under control enough that he wasn’t lashing out more violently.

“In we go…” Cynthia assured him, and herself, as two things happened.

First, on her insistence, the tip of the Garchomp’s lower cock pressed between her presented breasts, sliding into the jury-rigged hole she’d made of her cleavage. The underside brushed the black fabric of her top while the top and sides were smothered in warm, soft tits. 

Second, she leaned forward and planted a delicate kiss on the smooth crown of his higher dick, giggling at the disparity of such a sweet gesture in such a lurid context. Then, with a quick swirl of her tongue around the tip, catching all the pulsing heat and trapped energy of his pink length, Cynthia opened her mouth wider...and started to swallow down the Garchomp’s cock.

The dragon let out a growl, a drawn-out sound that came off more like a satisfied groan than anything else. Cynthia marveled at the ease with which she gulped the Dragon-type’s dick in between her lips, her teeth dragging along the top and bottom, her tongue pillowing the underside in reverent softness. He was impressive, to be sure, but slippery and slick and a tad slimmer at the start than a human cock, though he widened considerably at the base and was lengthier than any shaft  _ she’d _ ever seen. The Garchomp’s heartbeat thrummed through his cock, pumping heat into her cheeks and tongue, leaving her mouth buzzing and throbbing with the impact of his pulse. 

It echoed through his lower cock, too, his circulation sending fresh waves of warmth blossoming out from the stiffness that was nestled between her tits, a duller, more grounded heat than that afforded by the enclosing of her breasts around his shaft. As the Garchomp hissed, Cynthia took more of his lengths into her mouth and cleavage, enfolding him in her lips, the top of her throat taking the tip of his dick, while the cock in her chest pushed deeper, until the head of that rod was slipping past her tits and rubbing her belly.

Cynthia tried not to gag or gulp, not from the taste—she had few complaints there—but the difficulty. As she fed herself more of his cocks, her neck started to strain, her tongue a useless support against the encroaching of his shaft as it pushed further into her throat. The circle-mark of spikes was closer now, and she could see her hand approaching, but Cynthia knew that she couldn’t take the full length of the Garchomp’s cock, or the girth of the base. To try to stave off a jaw-shattering deepthroat, she worked her right hand forward and back, brushing those sensitive spikes with her pinky finger and squeezing lightly on the dragon’s shaft. Her left hand brushed and stroked what little of his lower length was not buried in her breasts, but far more was afforded there than above: he didn’t have to worry about breaking any bones when fucking her tits, after all.

The Dragon-type seemed to have...not calmed down, exactly, but if Cynthia had been expecting a frenetic rut of his lengths into her cleavage and face, she was surprised, though not unpleasantly, to find him exerting surprising control over himself. But the drawn-out, echoing hiss that emanated from him told her that his patience was thin: most dragons were not built for restraint, after all. If she didn’t want to get seriously hurt, she’d have to get him off quickly enough.

Cynthia winked up at him, though he couldn’t see her eyes from his hunched position, and got to it. She slobbered and slurped along his upper cock, withdrawing her mouth almost all the way off of it and smacking her lips together loudly, making a show for no one but herself of kissing this Garchomp’s cock without letting it slip from between her teeth. Her right hand ceaselessly, firmly, and insistently kept stroking his shaft, milking his dick with all her wrist could handle, tweaking and bumping the spines at the base on the downstroke and leaving them wobbling on the upstroke. Each brush earned another half-hiss from him, and a cock-obstructed giggle from her, as she rewarded his endurance with a swirl of her tongue and a delicate nibble on his cock.

Her left hand kept his lower shaft firmly between her tits and she slipped forward and back, feeling that warm slimy dick prod and slide in and out of the grip of her cleavage, never being released, always embraced. She couldn’t stroke with that hand as much, or press her breasts together to keep the grip firm, but Cynthia didn’t think that the Garchomp cared. It felt  _ good _ to please such a mighty Pokemon, to submit herself before such bestial strength, and she had no doubt that he was enjoying something that couldn’t be replicated with another of his kind.

The hiss gave way to a pleased rumble, and he opened his mouth and let his tongue hang loose. A long trail of slobber and drool hung from his chin, dripping into her hair, and then he snapped his jaws shut, suddenly, and gnashed his teeth and bellowed fiercely. The Garchomp’s cocks trembled, tensed, and throbbed in Cynthia’s mouth and between her tits, the spikes on the bases twitching, and she knew what was about to happen.

_ Spurt splurt sploosh _

The dragon let loose a deep-seated, primal growl and erupted, spewing his loads simultaneously down her throat and onto her chest. She tried to pull off enough to taste him on her tongue, and was able to catch the salty, gooey, almost gummy cumshot before it rocketed right down her stomach, clogging her throat, and filled her cheeks with the volume of his blast. 

_ Glug glug glug _

What couldn’t fit in her mouth splattered from her nostrils, the rest trapped between her lips or already settling into her belly. All the while, the Garchomp’s second dick hosed down Cynthia’s tits and belly, painting the inside of her shirt and pants a sticky white, the thick fluid holding the fabric fast to her stomach and breasts until it started to bulge out the material, and then drip through the spaces in the weaving.

_ Splat blub blorb _

The rest bubbled back up from her cleavage, dribbling down from the top of her chest and scattering across her shoulders and chin.

Cynthia hummed and sighed contentedly, releasing his dicks as he staggered slightly and stepped back. His lengths popped out from between her lips and tits with two wet  _ pops _ , and she covered her mouth to avoid hacking and sputtering up the spunk that the Garchomp had blasted into her mouth. She was lightheaded, woozy, but she kept herself under control, holding her mouth closed so that she blow out air through her clogged nostrils, forcing the cum that the dragon had stuffed her sinuses with to exit through her nose, and then swallowing that which he’d deposited into her cheeks. It took some time to work it down, it was so thick, and saline, and sticky, but after some pauses to breath and lick the inside of her cheek, she managed...and the cumshot staining her teeth and lips joined the rest in her stomach, safe and tucked away, keeping her core warm in combination with the load on her belly. 

“G-good boy.” She coughed, half-hiccuping, smiling lazily. She dipped a hand between her tits, and scooped up some small amount of cum to slurp off of her hand, marveling at how something as bizarrely exotic as Garchomp spunk could drive her to swallow more and more. It wasn’t even all that wildly amazing, but something about it was...indulgent. Gratifying, even. “Now, are you...oh.”

He wasn’t softening, not in the least. Both lengths still stood tall and sleek, the spines at the bottom of each throbbing and stiffened, the whole thing shimmering with her drool and his own cum. The Garchomp leaned down, pointed claws digging into the dirt, opening his mouth, drooling and exhaling heavily, blasting Cynthia with a full-face wave of his breath, the same burnt-meat smell as before. But though her eyes watered and her skin prickled, she did not recoil, and instead leaned forward, smiling, and rubbed her nose against his snout, kissing him on the nostril, then sliding down to suckle on his tongue again, like she had before, cradling his head in her hands. The Garchomp crooned and huffed, clawing at the dirt, half-bent over now, almost as short as she was at a kneel.

He really _ was _ beautiful, in a fierce, proud, bestial and terrifying way. Cynthia was not scared, and the nervous energy that coursed through her was not that of anxiety, but of anticipation. She was  _ excited _ , and could feel the heat in between her thighs match the wave of warmth that coursed from his throat, and that lingered in her mouth and chest from where she’d sucked and titfucked his dicks. 

She knew what she had to do. She gave him another stroke across the snout, and another sucking motion on his tongue—the closest she could get to kissing him—and turned. She slipped forward, onto her hands and knees, and reached down to grab her waistband and pulled. Lifting her knees, one at a time, Cynthia slid her pants down to just below her knees, and then flipped up the bottom of her black coat, so that it folded back onto the upper half of her back. It was probably smarter to just get naked, but she didn’t trust Garchomp to not start raging if he wasn’t sated...and she wanted his double dragon dicks, too.

Reaching between her legs one last time, Cynthia grabbed at the waist of her panties and pulled, hard. The material stretched, and then snapped, and she tossed the ruined underclothing aside. 

“Come here, big boy. Let’s see what you can do.” Cynthia giggled, excited and eager, and leaned down, pressing her cheek into the dirt, her tits popping free of her top as she wiggled her hips with her ass in the air. She wasn’t sure how Garchomp would deal with the sight in front of him, or what his instincts or intelligence would tell him to do, but she’d done all she could: the rest was on him.

There was a pause, and then another. Cynthia was worried that she’d confused him too much for him to act, and was about to turn around and try to guide him, when she felt a heavy weight settling over her back, pressing against her folded, fluffy black coat. The Garchomp’s claws dug into the soil above her wrists, the fins pressing against her forearms, his lower stomach resting on her butt, pressing her plush tush down in a firm squeeze. His head was above hers, and just barely pat her, his drool dripping down a hair’s breadth from her nose. Two familiar prods teased behind her: the lower, pushing at her pussy, and the upper nudging at her ass. 

Cynthia was prepared to grit her teeth, to endure what she imagined was going to be terrible pain. He pressed his hips forward, and his lower cock slipped into her pussy, the head sliding inside without difficulty. So far so good, but the more difficult was to come, and she tensed in preparation for the second entry on her asshole…

...And was shocked when, after a brief, futile resistance, her back entrance gave up, and his upper dick glided into her butt with little fanfare, and unexpectedly little agony. Sure, it was...uncomfortable, and a strain, but Cynthia was not feeling the tearing, ripping sensation she had worried about. Then it struck her that, well, not only were Garchomp’s lengths slim, and less bulbous at the tip than a human’s, but they were also naturally slick and slippery, even in conjunction with the lubrication of her prior dick-sucking, tit-fucking, and his leftover cum. It was as firm as any respectable shaft, but the dragon cock currently being fed to her ass slotted into place in her back hole with far more ease and grace than she’d foreseen.

Cynthia couldn’t think about that any more, though. Now that he was in, the Garchomp let loose a feral roar, and shoved forward powerfully. Her whole body rocked, she gasped and sputtered, but she couldn’t move, even if she’d wanted to, as he plunged himself nearly to the base, the ring of soft spikes the only thing separating him from bottoming out in her...and even then, she sensed his restraint. He  _ could’ve _ speared her fully, and he’d consciously chosen not to. Fascinating...and enthralling. And the sensation of his dicks as fully in her as they were was... _ lovely _ . Warm, and firm, and oh-so-mighty, both pulsing within her, heating her via proximity through her cunt and ass...Cynthia had never felt anything like it, not once.

The Garchomp went at her with gusto, withdrawing his hips and slamming back forward strongly, with enough force to leave Cynthia shaking and shuddering, but not enough to bottom out. Each movement of his body sent a fresh shudder and zap through her body from both holes, xylophoning up her spine and suffusing throughout her whole form, a rhythm of stimulation that could only be the result of such incredible might, and a double-serving of dragon dick. 

He kept fucking her, feral and bestial and primal and wild, letting loose sharp hisses, fierce roars, deep bellows, and hungry growls. He gnashed his teeth and snapped his jaws open and closed, a reverberating  _ snap _ echoing as he snatched and gnawed at the air. When Cynthia tried to reach up for his neck, or his claws, he pinned her wrists to the floor with his fins, and lowered his chin so the top of her blonde hair was pressed to her scalp beneath him. Her form rippled and shuddered from the movement, the full jiggle of her ass stifled by his stomach, the wobble of her tits similarly smothered by their being pressed against the ground. She curled and dug her toes into the dirt, feeling his powerful thighs on either side of her, trapping her in a lovely prison of scales.

_ Whump whump whump _

His softer belly scales weren’t irritating her back, but Cynthia knew her knees and elbows would be chafed. She hardly cared: this felt far too good. Each time the tips of his dragon dicks slammed as far as they could go in her holes—just a smidgen short of the back of her pussy for the lower, or the end of her colon for the upper—Cynthia felt a little more control slip from her, a little less desire to live beyond this wonderful moment of getting pounded by this Pokemon. 

_ Slam slam slam _

His raw might, and the energy he exerted on her, was slowly sapping her limbs of power, and her brain of higher function. Cynthia’s eyes were starting to cross, and lose focus, and her hands were unclenching and beginning to slow in their struggles. But she wouldn’t  _ dare _ let herself lose touch with what was happening, and she focused on the distant  _ wham _ of his tail against the soil as a metronome, to keep pace with the thrusts of his twin cocks.

Cynthia felt him speed up, get harder, sawing his dicks in and out...and still, he held back. He was waiting for something, something specific and important and meaningful and...It occurred to her, only vaguely, what was about to happen. One of the spikes on his lower dick was drumming her clit with every push forward, and their purpose returned to her in a moment of pussy-pounding, butt-banging, Pokemon-fucking clarity that could know no equal.

Garchomp didn’t just want to  _ fuck _ her. He wanted to  _ breed _ her, or get as close as he could. His instincts wouldn’t know the difference. 

Sure enough, he drilled her harder, faster, pounding away at her with feral force. His chin was pressing down on her hair more strongly now, pushing her cheek into the dirt even more firmly. Cynthia’s tongue lolled out of her mouth, and he bellowed powerfully with the final push. The spikes on the base of Garchomp’s cocks slipped in, then stiffened, nudging the inside of her pussy and anal walls, pressing and squeezing and rubbing as he held himself taut and still and unloaded himself within her holes.

Garchomp blasted her womb with his spunk, painting her pussy white with his gooey, sticky, piping hot eruption. It splattered her insides, coating her walls with it, a flood of fluid that seemed to go on and on. He poured his cum into the recesses of her ass, creaming her colon and filling her rear with the volume of it. More and more of his eruption emptied into her back entrance, a rush of heat that she’d never had cause to consider before. 

And all the while, the spikes on his dick kept his shafts locked in place, ensuring that Cynthia was stuffed to the brim and had no hope of feeling anything  _ but _ swamped with his spunk for the foreseeable future. But she wasn’t thinking of much then, anyway: her mind was cracking, at least transiently, unable to cope with the overstimulation of being pounded, plowed, and now pumped full of spunk. She writhed and whimpered and moaned as much as she could beneath him, pussy squirting and ass clenching, both holes undulating and bearing down on his cumming cocks. As they gripped, they squeezed even more lovely cream from him, and Cynthia was left to feel monstrously overwhelmed and utterly pacified when the aftershocks of her squirting climax kept rocking through her.

As she wheezed and panted and sighed, finally coming to her senses, Garchomp tilted his chin down, leaning towards her, and gave her an affectionate lick across the cheek, dragging his tongue along her nose and up her forehead, pulling some of her matted hair up with it as he withdrew too slobber across her face. Cynthia was still fuck-drunk, but the meaning registered clearly enough.

_ Mine. _

Cynthia smiled, lazily and dreamily, and purred against his body. She could live with that. She could...

She could...she could finally remember her  _ original _ purpose for doing this. To acquire Garchomp semen to artificially inseminate her partner Pokemon. And she’d just wasted the entirety of this prime stud’s load on and inside her. She hadn’t even brought the bucket anywhere close, to say nothing of making preparations to freeze his sperm! She’d gotten woefully swept up in it all, and getting carried away to that extent was...probably a bad idea.

But Cynthia couldn’t help but smile, and lick her lips, and wiggle her hips, trying to drive the lovely Garchomp to fuck her again while his dicks were still firmly inside of her, confident that she wouldn’t break. She’d need to get a lot more spunk to make up for how much she’d thrown away, but that could be dealt with later. Right now, she just wanted more Garchomp cock, and more Garchomp cum, all for herself.


End file.
